


The Nerevarine's Return

by JayApplegate



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Fantasy, Multi, Novelization, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-05-19 10:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5964625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayApplegate/pseuds/JayApplegate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only a Dragonborn can truly kill a dragon. The Wheel has turned to such a being when the World-Eater emerged from the currents of Time. But was it fate or chance, that a hero of old heeded a calling to the north, to the land of the Nords? The Nerevarine thought he was finished with Prophecies, but it is a fool's errand to guess the will of the Elder Scrolls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

Time.

An infinite amount of time had once seemed like an amazing gift. He'd considered himself lucky, especially considering the negative effects Corpus tended to give those infected with it. He had been given a gift that no other human could ever experience: a chance to see every corner of the world several times over; an opportunity to always be the hero, to save everyone he could and just a few more. These were just some of the things he had to look forward to, all thanks to his gift.

A gift, much later in the future, he considered a curse.

It took several years before things settled in Morrowind. Once they had, and after a year or two of traveling his homeland of Cyrodiil, he'd decided to set out for a land very few in history had ever been to—Akavir. The Blades had argued he should report back to the Emperor, given he had knowledge and power unlike anything previously available to the Empire. He'd considered the option, but being recruited into the Blades hadn't been an option for him at all. He'd fully paid off his debt to the Emperor by saving Morrowind from Dagoth Ur, the Tribunal, and Hircine, as far as Arenar was concerned.

And so, joined by friends, allies and even a few rivals he'd picked up, the Nerevarine set off to explore the unexplored continent in the year four twenty-nine of the Third Era.

Having intended to be an expedition lasting only a couple of years, none had expected or been prepared to ultimately stay there for ten. Shipwrecked upon arrival, Arenar and his crew were assailed every day by the various indigenous races of Akavir. For each step made in repairing their ships, two more back were made in recovering from the day-in and day-out of fighting.

By the time they managed to have one ship be made seaworthy and the long voyage back to Tamriel began, the over two hundred man crew had shrunk to a size of twenty. Among the survivors was Arenar Krex, who swore never to leave Tamriel again. Arenar had expected little to have changed in his absence, perhaps a small war or two at the most.

As it turned out, everything had changed.

Mehrunes Dagon had invaded Nirn and unleashed Oblivion gates across Tamriel. Martin Septim, the bastard child of Emperor Uriel Septim VII, sacrificed himself to return Mehrunes back to the Deadlands and to seal the rift between Nirn and Oblivion The Hero of Kvatch, the man who'd rescued Martin and closed many of the Oblivion gates, vanished after entering a gate unlike any that had been seen during the invasion.

The Fourth Era had begun, marked by the end of the Septim Dynasty.

And that was only the beginning. The Empire, now without a descendant of Tiber Septim to lead it, was now run by the Imperial Potentate Ocato, previously the High Chancellor of the Elder Council. The Thalmor began to rise in power in the Summerset Isles, home of the High Elves. Black Marsh seceded from the Empire. Soon after, Vvardenfall and much of Morrowind had been destroyed by the eruption of Red Mountain.

Finding nothing better to do, Arenar began to wander.

Months passed like hours; years like days. Wars occurred nearly as often as a full moon, though Arenar took no part in any of them, at least not willingly. More nations seceded from the Empire, which was weaker than ever from tension between it and the Aldmeri Dominion.

And then the world fell apart, when he experienced love at first sight and the pain of losing love in the blink of an eye. After that, he fell into a slump. He continued to travel and help people, but only because he had no end to his long-lasting life.

More than two hundred years after Fourth Era began, Arenar found himself on the Pale Pass. Where he headed was the northern home of the Nords, the only country he had never explored despite his age.

Skyrim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a story originally uploaded on Fanfiction.net that I have decided to share/archive on this site as well. The first 17 chapters have been mostly edited and cleaned up, but from there out the remaining chapters are mostly left in the original, unedited form. As in, poor writing due to a lack of writing skill and experience almost three years ago.
> 
> If you are interested in reading this story in its entirety right now, you can google the title and find it on Fanfiction.net. Otherwise, I plan on uploading a chapter or two on here maybe every 2-3 days until it is caught up to the most recent chapters on the live version.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.


	2. The Pale Pass

**THE PALE PASS**

**Arenar**

Though still technically within the borders of Cyrodiil, three day's north of Bruma, Arenar already hated the cold of Skyrim. He'd traded his simple cloth cloak for one lined with bear fur, but it did little to warm him in his old steel armor. It was the fierce winds more than anything that chilled him to the bone as he walked the Pale Pass.

He held his armored hand in front of him and conjured a small flame. Arenar hadn't the aptitude for magic beyond simple Destruction and Restoration spells, despite his hundreds of years walking Tamriel. Still, the small fire did its job of warming him, and would do so as long as his low reserve of magicka would allow.

_No wonder Nords have built up a natural resistance to the cold._ Arenar himself had a bit of Nordic descent, which was evident in his pale skin and large build, but he was mostly of Imperial blood. _You'd have to be able to deal with a year-long snowy climate._

Nighttime was an hour away when his magicka reserve finally ran empty and his fire went out. "Oh well," he sighed. "At least I should be in Skyrim by tomorrow." Where he hoped to find temporary refuge in the village of Helgen and restock before setting out to explore the rest of the country.

Not long afterward he decided to find a place to sleep for the night. He wandered a few minutes longer, trying to find the best area to set up camp while still being relatively close to the road. Just as he thought he'd located a decent clearing, a light dancing in the middle of dense woods caught his eye. _Another traveler... or something worse?_ Curiosity drove him to investigate further, just to be certain he wouldn't be camping within walking distance of a cut throat.

As he neared the camp, Arenar realized there was more than one traveler. There were at least four small tents, each facing a large bonfire in the center of the camp. Farther from the fire was a large tent, though this one appeared to be more of a war room than a place to rest. Six silhouettes surrounded a table placed in the middle of the tent. Arenar couldn't make out there faces, but considering how tall they were and their shared accents he guessed them to be Nords.

"The scouts have reported no sight of any Imperial troops, but I still believe we should move farther south," a gruff male voice said.

Arenar slowed, trying to remain as silent as possible in his clunky armor, as he continued towards the large tent. He wanted to get a better look at the Nords. He heard a different man say, "Tullius wouldn't look for me in Cyrodiil, regardless of how close we are to the border."

Arenar paused for a moment. The man's voice had been booming and deep, but also something more subtle. Each word he spoke felt powerful, but in a way Arenar had never heard before, despite his numerous years.

"The Imperials have control of Falkreath Hold. It's possible that Tullius had—"

A loud crack rang out throughout the camp, rendering it silent. Arenar looked down and cursed at himself, for he'd stepped on a rather large twig. Before he could even think about retreating, a group of about fifteen Nords—including the ones from the large tent—formed a circle around him. Each man was armed with a sword or a nocked bow.

All but two of the Nords wore helmets. One was a man with long, ragged blond hair and a small, trimmed beard of a matching color. His light leather armor was covered with a blue cloth. Looking around, Arenar noticed all the Nords wore blue somewhere on their bodies.

The other Nord lacking a helmet had blondish-brown hair of equal length to the other man's, but more well-kept. He had a small goatee that was tightly groomed. His armor did not appear to be very protective—if it was at all—but did appear much more comfortable than the rest of the Nords' armor. Combined with his authoritative stance and the nervous glances his men gave him, he was clearly the group's leader.

The leader sized up Arenar, which might've proven difficult given his distance from the campfire. Arenar's hair was a dark chocolate brown that clung closely to his head, ruffled and far shorter than either of the Nords. His beard stretched out across his entire face, but it was very wild.

The camp was quiet for the longest time. Arenar wasn't truly worried about the situation, but he was getting anxious. Finally the leader cleared his throat and spoke. "An Imperial, but he doesn't look to be one of Tullius'. Who are you?"

"My name is Arenar Krex. And no, I am not one of his men, whoever he is," he answered.

The leader's brow rose up slightly. "An Imperial who doesn't know of General Tullius? Odd. I suppose you don't know who we are then?" Arenar shook his head. The leader lowered his steel sword and placed it back in his sheath, prompting the others to follow his example.

"I am Ulfric Stormcloak, and these are the true sons and daughters of Skyrim: the Stormcloaks," the leader, Ulfric, explained.

Arenar recognized the name. He'd heard news in Bruma that the Stormcloak Rebellion, a "plague" on Skyrim since the end of the Great War, had gone too far and had killed the High King of Skyrim. He imagined it was the rebellion leader standing before him that did the deed.

"What brings you this far north of the Imperial City?" Ulfric asked.

Arenar really didn't know. He'd avoided Skyrim for most of his life, with the exception of the island of Solstheim—which now technically a part of Skyrim since the eruption of Red Mountain. Something in him had told him to finally make the venture north of his homeland. "To explore," Arenar replied, not entirely lying. "I've seen most of Tamriel, and Skyrim would put me one step closer to seeing all of it."

The blond Nord snorted. "You must have stared traveling since you were a child to have seen so much."

Ulfric raised his hand. "Relax, Ralof. You don't need to be hostile towards him. He hasn't shown himself to be a threat...yet."

Arenar mentally kicked himself. So much of his time he spent traveling alone, and so he often forgot he didn't look nearly as old as he truly was. After all, it was a little over a week following his twenty-fourth name day that he had been infected with Corprus.

His line of thought was interrupted by the sound of another twig snapping, then another. A symphony of cracks and snaps blasted around the camp from nearly every direction other than directly behind him. The Stormcloaks were equally confused, glancing into the dark forest and unable to see what was making the noises. Ulfric realized too late what was happening and attempted to warn his men.

"Imperials!" he cried out.

From out of the darkness approached mounted horses, carrying men that wore legionnaire armor and wielded and assortment of weapons. Their numbers were at least triple that of the Stormcloaks, if not more.

The Stormcloaks brought their weapons back out, prepared to attack. Ulfric called them off. "Drop your weapons. Fighting would mean our deaths."

Reluctantly, the Stormcloaks listened, letting their weapons hit the ground before raising their hands up in a clear sign of surrender.

Arenar was trying to decide what his next move would be. On one hand, he knew that he could overpower anyone who dared to attack him, even if they fought him in pairs of three or four. On the other hand, he recognized that the Empire had plenty reason to capture the Stormcloaks, even if the Stormcloaks had plenty reason to rebel as well.

Not wanting to shed blood on either side—for how suspicious it must appear to the Stormcloaks that Arenar, an Imperial, appeared in their camp moments before the Imperial Legion did the same—and deciding this wasn't his quarrel, Arenar turned and ran for the Pale Pass.

"We got a runner!" he heard someone behind him shout almost instantly.

As Arenar stepped back onto the frozen trail he stumbled in the snow, narrowly dodging an arrow that would have pierced his unprotected head. He faced the camp and saw he was being chased by four horses, three carrying archers while the fourth held an Imperial soldier with a torch.

Arenar charged blindly on the snow-covered path, unable to see any further than he could stretch out his arms. He could hear the Imperials getting closer, could see their arrows getting closer as they adjusted to shooting from horseback on uneven terrain.

Suddenly Arenar stopped, falling onto his back after running into a tree. _How did a tree sprout in the middle of the damn road?!_ Then the tree neighed, further confusing Arenar.

"Who is there?" a Nord asked in a whimper from somewhere nearby.

Arenar didn't have a chance to answer. The Imperials arrived upon the scene. Torchlight flooded over him, and he saw that he'd run into a horse. Pulling the horse forward was a dirty Nord with dark hair and torn, ragged clothes.

The Imperials trained their bows on Arenar and the Nord. Arenar stood up slowly, placing his hands above his head. The dirty Nord did the same, albeit one hand clutching the reins of his horse.

The legionnaire with the torch, an Imperial woman of dark skin and hair, stared at him. "An Imperial fighting for the Stormcloaks. How traitorous can you be?" she asked.

"He isn't a Nord," one of the archers said. "And he isn't wearing their colors."

"That doesn't matter," the captain said. "He could be a sell-sword."

"I came across their camp on my way to Skyrim," Arenar protested. "I have no affiliation with the Stormcloaks, or the Legion, for that matter."

"Convenient," said the captain. "Too convenient for my tastes. You're coming with us to Helgen." She regarded the dirty Nord. "And you to, horse thief."

Arenar almost thought it funny they planned to bring him to Helgen, his own chosen destination. "I will go with you, then. One of your commanders is bound to believe me and release me from your custody. Perhaps this, ah, General Tullius will hear me out." _And if he doesn't, I always have the Moon-and-Star._

The captain smiled, and something about it bothered Arenar. "Perhaps." She grabbed a coiled line of rope from the side of her horse and tossed it to one of her men. "Bind their hands and tie them to your mount."

He nodded, dismounted and approached the two prisoners. He fastened Arenar's hands first, nice and tight so that Arenar couldn't move them. He flashed a marred grin as he took Trueflame and slid the ancient blade into his own belt. "Nice sword."

"I expect to get it back, once I'm released," Arenar warned.

"I'll be the first to applaud you if you manage that," the Imperial sneered, "what with your head rolling next to Ulfric's."

There was too much confidence in his taunt for it to be simple mocking. _An execution without trial? This is not the Empire I know._ Uriel Septim would have sentenced Ulfric and his men properly. But then, the Septims have been gone for a long time.

Arenar refused to join them.

He threw all his weight forward and smashed the soldier onto the ground. Risking an arrow to his back, Arenar again attempted to flee. He forgot all about the rope that bound him and that the man held the other end. The man jerked the rope and tugged Arenar off his feet. Arenar recovered fast, but not before the other riders caught up to and enclosed him.

"This one's a feisty one," said the rope holder. "Might just want to put him down now."

Arenar bucked his arms, throwing the man towards him. _If I get the rope then I can escape._

"You know what?"

Arenar turned his head to face the captain, whose boot was level with his face.

"I agree."

She brought her steel boot down on Arenar's face, and the world went dark.


	3. Alone in the Woods

**ALONE IN THE WOODS**

**Arenar**

Arenar awoke with a deep inhale of air, as if he'd not been breathing. His hand passed over his face, and he winced at the sting of a horizontal cut across his nose, covered in dried blood. _Oh, joy, I needed another scar._ He opened his eyes and was momentarily blinded by the sun, hanging in the middle of the sky.

He found himself lying in the snow, exactly where he had fallen before. All of his supplies, from his steel armor to rucksack, had been stripped from him, just like Trueflame had. Arenar was surprised the Moon-and-Star ring was still around his finger. _At least they didn't take everything._

He rose up from the ground, shivering now that he was unprotected from the cold. Thankfully the wind had died down; else he would be far worse off. Regardless, standing in the snow in just his socks would mean the loss of his feet if he didn't get something on them soon.

As far as Arenar could tell, he was alone in the woods. He could see the Stormcloak camp from where he stood and there wasn't a soul in sight. Unsure of what he would find, he staggered to the camp.

The _abandoned_ camp, as it were. All that was left of its occupants were footprints in the snow and the dying embers of last night's fire. The tents were there and most of the Stormcloak's supplies remained inside. Arenar didn't hesitate in plundering the numerous chests for boots, heavier clothing, and cloaks that would suit him. Some armor was available, though all of it was decorated in Stormcloak blue or brandished their standard of a roaring bear.

Food, weapons, and—had there ever been any—potions seemed to be the only thing the Legion had appropriated from the camp. Healing his face with his magic instead, Arenar considered the night's events and came to a realization. He'd have been easy to take prisoner in his unconscious state, yet he'd been left behind. The legionnaire had agreed that killing him then would be better than killing him later. He'd woken without breath, after more than twelve hours of lying in snow.

The Imperial's boot hadn't knocked him out.

"Damn," Arenar sighed as he cleaned the dried blood off his face with snow from the ground. "That bitch killed me."

Arenar's case of Corprus was special, and not just because he was the only person to be cured of its more negative effects like insanity and cancerous growths all along his body. Immortality and immunity to all known diseases had been granted to him; immortality, in the sense that he would never age. Later, to his surprise, he learned he'd been given true immorality. Sure, he could—and had, several times through the years—die, but he would come back to life.

His stomach rumbled. Arenar didn't like it, but Helgen was the nearest settlement he knew of to go find something to eat. As he started back down the Pale Pass, his mind wandered back to the first time he'd "died."

* * *

_Arenar was in Cyrodiil—Anvil, to be exact—months after leaving Morrowind, and was on his was to help a merchant in the harbor district who was having trouble with thieves. As he was about to enter Norbert's, a female High Elf approached him._

_"Can you help me?" the Altmer asked._

_Arenar shrugged. "Depends on what you need help with."_

_She pointed to a ship that was sitting alongside the port, its name painted on the side:_ The Serpent's Wake _. "I hired Huurwen to clear out my ship, but she has been gone for almost two hours now."_

_Arenar didn't know who Huurwen was but suspected she was from the Fighters' Guild. "What is she clearing out?"_

_"She's getting rid of the ghosts of my dead crew."_

_Arenar gave her a skeptical look. "Ghosts?"_

_"It's a long story. Please, will you look for her? I'm worried that she is injured, or worse."_

_Arenar nodded. "If she is still alive, I'll bring her out."_

_He walked onto_ The Serpent's Wake _and entered a door leading to the lower decks. He climbed down the ladder slowly, hoping he wouldn't alert the ghosts. A loud creak echoed throughout the entire deck when Arenar stepped on the floor. In the next room he heard a low moan._

So much for discretion _._ _Arenar drew his sword and charged into the room, slicing through the floating, green wraith. The wraith's form disintegrated before his very eyes. It let out a screech as it disintegrated into ashes._

_Arenar walked out of the room into the adjacent hallway. As he passed by a door he heard a crash from behind it, followed by someone cursing quietly._

_"Hello?" Arenar asked as he opened the door._

_"Argh!" The woman screamed as she tried to stab Arenar._

_Arenar parried the woman's blade and then swiped the sword from her hand. "Watch it!" he yelled at her._

_The woman, who turned out to be the Wood Elf Huurwen, apologized. "I heard a loud screech, and when you opened the door, I thought the ghosts were going to get me."_

_"I killed one," Arenar informed her._

_She looked at him in awe. "How did you kill one? My sword sailed straight through it without doing a thing!"_

_He smiled. "That didn't stop you from trying to decapitate me when I opened the door, huh?" When she didn't return the smile, he continued in a more serious tone. "Ghosts can only be destroyed with magic or special weapons, like enchanted blades, silver, or daedric swords."_

_Huurwen's eyes shifted to something behind him and she gasped. "Look out!"_

_Arenar wasn't able to match the speed he'd had when Huurwen tried to cut off his head. He spun to watch the wraith pierce through his armor like it was butter. The last thing he remembered before the world went dark was the taste of blood._

* * *

Later on the Pale Pass, Arenar stumbled upon another camp, one that was also abandoned but much more recently. The embers gave off some heat still. Footprints were scattered across the entire campground in several different directions, but the road revealed several wagon and horse tracks going in the same direction.

"Must be an Imperial camp," Arenar guessed. He departed quickly, determined to reach Helgen before the sun set. He had no interest in dying again so soon from the cold.

* * *

_He inhaled deeply and started coughing violently, spitting up blood as he did so. His eyelids slowly parted, then shut immediately when an intense pain throughout his neck caused him to shudder. "He is waking up!" he heard Huurwen announce._

_Arenar blinked again, unsure where he was. The scent of seawater and the sight of the sun lowering beneath the horizon revealed he was back on the upper deck of_ The Serpent's Wake _._ _Huurwen, the Altmer, and an Anvil city guard stood over him._

_"What happened?" he asked._

_"When the ghost stabbed you," Huurwen said, "I picked up your sword and cut the thing in half."_

_Arenar realized he wasn't wearing his armor when he moved his hand down to the spot where the wraith had stabbed him. The spot was tender and had a bloodied bandage covering it._

_He gave a weak laugh. "Damned thing left a hole in me."_

_"I ran back up here and summoned the guard to help me bring you up here too," Huurwen said. "You'd lost so much blood; I can't believe you lived long enough to have the Altmer here heal you."_

_The owner of_ The Serpent's Wake _nodded. "I've never seen some lose as much as you did and survive. You're lucky that Restoration magic had always come naturally to me."_

_"Yeah, I guess so," Arenar said in an unconvinced tone. He felt exhausted due to half the blood in his body now coating the outside of it so he closed his eyes._ I shouldn't be alive.

_A familiar presence appeared in his head_. _"But you are,"_ _whispered a female's voice. He was surprised by the voice as he hadn't heard from Azura since his battle with Almalexia more than three years ago. "You don't seem to be grateful for this second chance at life."_

Azura? Are you here, right now?

_"Most of my essence remains in Moonshadow. I only needed to send a piece in order to be here. Now, why are you questioning your survival? Are you upset that your life didn't end when that cowardly Wood Elf distracted you from the ghost's blade?"_ _Azura responded._

Believe me; I am far from upset about being alive. But why did I survive? Did you do this?

_She ignored the question. "You didn't survive. You simply... came back. The reason for this is that you are not done yet, not in Mundus. Someone decided your existence is far too important to be ended on this boat, though I have seen your fate. Death will eventually take you, but not today."_

Can you tell me my fate?

_"It is not my place to reveal what I have seen. However, I have a gift for you, though you won't be able to accept it for a long time,"_ _Azura explained._

A gift? Seems odd that a Daedric Prince would be so gracious _._

_"Do not think this gift comes without a price,"_ _she warned. "You will only receive it after your heart has been shredded into small bits. And even then your reward will have to wait a while longer." With that cheerful note, Arenar felt her leave his mind._

Small bits? Well, then it better be a nice reward.

* * *

The sun was almost gone from the sky when Arenar saw a village surrounded by a stone wall. The walls were covered with red flags presenting the Imperial Dragon, symbolizing the Legion's possession of what Arenar assumed was Helgen. The tracks he'd been following ended at the village's gate, which were shut.

Worried as he was about walking into a Legion-controlled village and being recognized, being stuck in the unknown lands of Skyrim at night without armor or weapons, Arenar had no choice but to approach the gate.

_I'll just stay low and avoid as many people as I can. What's the worst that can happen?_


	4. A Night in Helgen

**A NIGHT IN HELGEN**

**Arenar**

Two guards were posted outside the town's gates, standing opposite sides of the massive doors. Their armor was Imperial Legion, which worried Arenar. _If these two were at the camp last night, they might recognize me._ He pulled his hood lower over his face.

One of the Nords raised his hand, signaling Arenar to halt. "Pull down your hood," the guard ordered. Reluctantly, Arenar did as commanded. "What brings you to Helgen, Imperial?"

"Just... trying to find a place to rest before the day is gone," he answered, thankful the troops didn't seem to recognize him.

The other guard shook his head. "You'll have to find somewhere else. We have direct orders from General Tullius to keep the gates closed until further notice."

"May I ask why?"

"No," the guard bluntly responded.

Arenar spun the Moon-and-Star, the ring Indoril Nerevar used to unite the Chimer clans of old. He said, "If you are going to force me into sleeping outside in the freezing cold forest without a weapon, you should be decent enough to explain why."

The guard looked at his fellow Nord, who shrugged slightly. He turned back to Arenar and said, "Last night General Tullius captured Ulfric Stormcloak and some of his men. The prisoners were brought here to house them overnight. Early tomorrow morning they'll be executed before any outside Stormcloaks learn of their leader's capture and attempt to rescue him."

Arenar had suspected as much. He twisted his ring again. "Well, I have no intention of reporting Ulfric's capture to anyone; I carry no preference of either the Imperials or the Stormcloaks. Besides, do you think General Tullius will notice one more person?" Both of the guards shook their heads, completely trapped in his ring's power. "So are you sure I can't stay in Helgen for the night? I promise not to cause any trouble."

The guard on the left side of the gate waved him over as he unlocked it. "Keep your head down. If you stir up trouble, we never saw you. Got it?"

Arenar nodded, a small smile spreading across his face as he continued to follow the wagon's trail. He admired the Moon-and-Star, glad it hadn't been stolen with the rest of his belongings. When he'd first put on the ring and it hadn't killed him, as it had so many people before him, there had been no doubt he was the Nerevarine. For it had been enchanted so only Indoril could wear it, and Arenar was Indoril reincarnated.

Arenar tore his gaze from the ring and placed it upon Helgen. In comparison to the hundreds, if not thousands of small villages he'd been to it was more of the same, excluding the walls. A few small houses were separated by stores, but most of the buildings were constructed with lumber and had a hay-covered roof. An impressive keep built entirely of stone was the main attraction in Helgen. Posted outside the building were numerous Imperial troops and three empty wagons. Behind the wagons stood the executioner's block. _That's where the Stormcloaks will die._

While walking along the road Arenar found Helgen's inn, _The Hollybush._ He entered, finding the building packed with villagers and Imperial troops. He hid his face as well as he could with his hood once again.

He sat down at the bar and the Nordic innkeeper greeted him. "Welcome to _The Hollybush_ , Imperial. Don't think I've ever seen you 'round here before."

"You're right," Arenar mumbled, glancing over his shoulder. No one appeared to be staring at him, which was a good sign. "I was in Cyrodiil up until last night. May I have a bottle of mead? Any kind will do."

The innkeeper reached down and brought up a small bottle. "Nord mead," he said, handing the beverage to Arenar. "I'm surprised you managed to get past the guards. The Legion seemed unlikely to open the gates for anything, much less a single traveler. Of all the places to bring the Stormcloaks, it would be here."

Arenar finished off his mead and placed the empty bottle back on the bar. "So it's the High King's death that brings the Legion and Stormcloaks here?"

The innkeeper's eyebrow rose. "You mean his murder?"

Some in Bruma had claimed Ulfric defeated High King Torygg in fair combat. _Just because people don't like that Torygg lost does not mean he was murdered._ To stay on the innkeeper's good side, Arenar said, "Yes, his murder. My mistake."

The innkeeper sighed. "I guess Skyrim's problems wouldn't be very important to the people in Cyrodiil, huh?"

"You'd be correct," Arenar lied.

"None of this would've started had the Stormcloaks just abided by the White-Gold Concordat."

Arenar wiped his mouth. "What is the White-Gold Concordat?"

The innkeeper snorted. "You must be drunk already. It's what ended the Great War with those damned High Elves."

"Oh yeah, that's right. Now I remember," Arenar answered gravely. Two hundred years' worth of memories often left him forgetting bits and pieces of a larger image, such as the White-Gold Concordat.

But he would never forget the Great War, for he was there in the beginning when the first major battle occurred in Leyawiin, thirty years ago. _More like the massacre._

As that was the place the only woman he had ever loved died.

* * *

_Arenar slept comfortably on his soft bed, in his rented room at the_ Three Sister's Inn _. The Khajiit sisters had long since passed, but the name stuck. Lying next to him in his bed was a female Breton named Lielle._

_She had long, black hair that clung to her flawless tan body and bright green eyes that perfected her beautiful face. He had met her a week earlier on the road to Leyawiin. She was a courier, and had been sent to deliver a message to the Count. Arenar met her when he'd been trying to clear out a bandit camp alone, something he had done many times. But the sheer number of criminals had nearly overwhelmed him. At the last second, Lielle had appeared and aided him._

_Arenar hadn't believed in love at first sight before that day. He had spoken with, fought beside, and slept with many women before Lielle. But when he saw her... it was no denying the way he felt for her._

_So he had managed to convince her that, for both there safeties, they travel together to Leyawiin. Much to his pleasant surprise, she had immediately taken him up on that offer._

_And in that week, he had learned everything about her. He told her as much as he deemed safe to say. Only a handful of people knew that he was the Nerevarine, and most of them were Dunmer that'd scurried off to different parts of Tamriel after Morrowind's destruction. The few times he had entrusted this information to someone new, they had rarely taken it well. Not wanting to scare Lielle off, he'd made up a past of being a traveling sell-sword born from eastern Cyrodiil._

_When they had finally reached Leyawiin, it'd been late. Deciding it best to bring the letter to the Count the next day, the two of them had gone to the Three Sister's Inn. Not so unfortunately, there had only been one vacancy left. Lielle had been quick to suggest they share it._

_Little sleeping had went on in that bed, not into the early hours of the next day._

_"Thalmor!" cried a voice from downstairs._

_Arenar and Lielle woke and rose up from the bed simultaneously, confused by the shouting. "What was that?" she asked._

_"I'll check," Arenar said. He pulled on a pair of pants and grabbed Trueflame before poking his head out the door._ Nothing yet _. He walked over to the railing and peered down at the first floor._

_Two High Elves and a Wood Elf made a circle around Ortag, the Imperial innkeeper. One Altmer wore black robes and a hood that hide his face. The other wore simple elven armor, the same kind as the Bosmer. All three were armed with an elven sword in one hand and magic in the other._

_"Surrender if you value your life," the hooded High Elf barked._

_"To Oblivion with you!" Ortag screamed defiantly._

_The elf ran his blade through Ortag's abdomen. He fell to the floor, clutching his fatal wound that bled freely. In seconds he was dead. "That will teach you to respect your betters," the Altmer said, spitting on the dead man's corpse._

What's going on? _He stepped forward, kicking a bucket he'd failed to notice. Immediately all three elves stared at him with their cold, merciless eyes. The armored Altmer's glaring was especially unnerving, a deep scar running along his left eye._

_"Throw down your blade if you want to leave this place alive," the hooded elf ordered._

_"No," Arenar replied. He leaped over the railing, landing directly in front of the leader. Before the elf could react, Trueflame passed through his heart, killing him almost instantly. The armored Altmer swung his sword at Arenar's head, but he rolled out of danger at the last second. From the corner of his eye, Arenar spotted the Bosmer advancing up the stairs._ Lielle! _He had to end this fast._

_The Altmer's hand sparked as a lightning spell was unleashed. Arenar failed to dodge it; his full attention was given to the Bosmer. He yelped and collapsed onto the ground when the bolt hit him in his right arm, causing him to drop Trueflame as numbness spread out to the rest of his body._

_"Should have surrendered," the Altmer gloated. He now stood over Arenar with another lightning spell charging in his palm. "Oh well. More Imperial scum, and anyone else who dares to fight against us, will die at our feet before we are done."_

_The elf crouched down, placing his hand over Arenar's heart. He smiled as he released the spell, shutting down the Imperial's vitals._

_Hours later Arenar woke up, surrounded by flames._ The Three Sisters' Inn _was burning down around him. He glanced down at his chest where a black scar marked his most current death. Slowly he stood, picking up Trueflame from the where he'd dropped it._

_Ortag and the hooded elf's corpses filled the building with a pungent smell that made Arenar gag. He climbed up the stairs towards his room, hoping that Lielle was safe._

_He passed through the doorway. "Oh gods," Arenar whispered, his heart filled with despair._

_Lielle's naked body lay lifelessly on the floor. A steam of blood had flowed onto the ground beneath her from the deep wound stretching across her throat. Arenar's elven dagger that he kept for emergencies was currently residing in her cold hand._ She tried to defend herself and failed.

_Arenar stood there silently, unsure what to do. After a few minutes passed he remembered the fire, which was now closer to his room. He slid on his leather boots and tugged on his light coat. Deciding to leave his armor behind, Arenar snatched his coinpurse and left the inn._

_He encountered a family that was also fleeing the city not long after. Among them was a Thalmor agent who had defected from the Aldmeri Dominion. Arenar had almost decapitated the High Elf on sight, and had continued to watch the ex-Jusiticar for the duration of their escape from the siege of Leyawiin. Little did he know that he would become friends with the Altmer, whose name was Rimion._

_The whole group, despite the odds, escaped the city. And soon after, Cyrodiil._

* * *

"Hello? You there?" the innkeeper asked.

Arenar blinked, back in _The Hollybush_ with another empty bottle in front of him. "I'm sorry," he said. "What did you ask me?"

"I asked you if you planned to rent a room tonight. If so, that brings your tab up to twenty-five Septims," the innkeeper said.

"Yes, I'll take a room," Arenar said.

The innkeeper placed a key down on the bar. "It will be the last room on the left. Arenar stretched out his hand to grab the key, but the Nord pulled it away. "I _said_ that will be twenty-five Septims."

"My apologies. I just have a lot on my mind right now." Arenar reached down for his coinpurse then cursed. He remembered that his coinpurse had been missing from his body as well earlier that afternoon.

Seeing no alternative, Arenar twisted his ring. "I've already paid for my drinks and room, so can I have my key?"

The innkeeper nodded and handed Arenar the room key. "You did pay me. Have a good night."

Arenar stood up and walked to his room. He felt bad about robbing the Nord, but it wasn't his fault he couldn't pay. _He'll have to take it up with General Tullius and the face-stomping bitch._

The room was nothing fancy. The bed was small and the empty chest available to hold any extra supplies would go unused by him. But still, it was much better than sleeping in the snow.

He hung his cloak on the door and fell onto the bed. Arenar fell asleep almost immediately. He began to dream about Lielle, like he did almost every night. He visualized her tanned skin, her luscious lips, and her sweet voice.

And the cold stare she gave him from her dead eyes. Once they were bright and full of life, but not anymore.


	5. Faces of the Past

**FACES OF THE PAST**

**Arenar**

Arenar woke with a crick in his neck from the hard mattress. He sat up, stretching his arms and yawning. _Better get out of here before the executions start_ _._ He lifted himself off the bed, put on his cloak and shoes and left the room. The inn's tavern, once full of drunken customers, was now empty except for the innkeeper.

The innkeeper looked up from sweeping the floor. "Up awfully early, don't ya think?" the Nord asked.

Arenar nodded as he closed and locked his door. "Trying to clear out before the executions begin. I imagine the entire village will be there today, plus the Legion."

"You don't want to see those traitors die?" the innkeeper asked in confusion. "You a Stormcloak lover?"

Arenar walked up to the bar and handed his key to the Nord. "I have no preference of either side." He fiddled with the ties for his cloak. "I'd just like to get a head start on the road and avoid the crowd."

"Good idea," the innkeeper agreed. "Once the executions begin, I doubt the guards will allow the gates to open." He reached down and presented a bottle of mead from behind the counter. "Want one for the road? There ain't a decent tavern for miles around, in Falkreath or in Whiterun. The only other option is to drink the swill served in Riverwood."

"Thank you for the offer, but I'll have to decline. Rather have my senses sharp while wandering around on unfamiliar lands," Arenar lied. He would have loved a drink but he had stolen enough from the man already.

The innkeeper shrugged and returned the beverage. "If you want directions you'll need to ask someone else; I've never left Helgen. The general store may be selling maps, but don't take my word for it."

"Thank you for your hospitality," Arenar said as he started to leave. "And your information."

"Your money will always be good here Imperial!" the innkeeper yelled as Arenar stepped onto the front porch. " _The Hollybush_ will be here if you ever decide to return!"

Helgen was still slumbering alongside its villagers by the time Arenar left _The Hollybush._ The sun hadn't crossed the horizon, but the sky was already beginning to go brighter as night turned to day. A group of about thirty Imperial troops huddled in front of the Keep, and were the only people Arenar saw. He cautiously pulled the hood of his cloak over his head to ensure his identity remained hidden. The soldiers were oblivious of his existence as they watched the executioner sharpen his axe.

Arenar eavesdropped on a conversation between the Imperials as he slowly strolled towards the northern gates. "I wonder who they'll kill first."

"I'd imagine Ulfric will be knocked off first in case any complications occur, then the other Stormcloaks will die afterwards."

"What will happen to the other prisoner?"

"The horse thief? Be killed, I imagine."

"No, I meant the woman we picked up."

"Again, the prisoner will probably die as a sympathizer."

"But she was far from Ulfric's camp, and when questioned none of the Stormcloaks seemed to recognize her."

"It would be awfully stupid for the Stormcloaks to reveal one of their spies."

"But she didn't have anything incriminating on her. For all we know she was just a traveler in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Or she escaped the camp when we raided it and was on her way back to Windhelm to retrieve reinforcements."

"Perhaps. Still, we had no reason to arrest her."

"We had orders. If we are ordered to behead her like the rest of the prisoners, we will do it. Or else Tullius will condemn you with them for siding with the 'sons of Skyrim.' Understand?"

Arenar paused, reflecting on their words once he was too far away to hear anything else. _They'll kill a prisoner they presume innocent? What has happened to the Empire?_

_Not if I can help it._

_But should I save the Stormcloaks also?_ If there was a possibility Ulfric had cleanly and honorably killed the High King, then that'd mean the Empire executing him would be wrong. _It's already wrong. No trial or investigation or anything; they'd just cut off his head and hope for the best._

_Lucky Nords._

Arenar turned around and examined the Keep, suspecting the prisoners were residing somewhere inside. He crept quickly but quietly towards the Keep's entrance. The Imperials were too engrossed in their discussions to notice him. Once at the door, he was surprised to find it unlocked.

Arenar opened the door only enough to squeeze into the building. He stuck to the shadows whenever possible, though stealth did not come naturally to him. Luckily there weren't any guards inside, at least none that he encountered. Instinct and experience with barracks eventually lead him towards the dungeon.

Descending down a flight of stairs, Arenar entered into a hallway with three jail cells along either side. Most of the cells contained three Stormcloak soldiers. Ulfric wasn't in any of the first four. The fifth cell had some promise when he found someone he did recognize.

"Ralof?" Arenar whispered into the tiny room.

The blond Nord looked bad. His hair was even more ragged than before and his armor was caked in mud. He lifted himself off the floor and leaned against the bars. "Krex? Is that you?" Arenar nodded. "Didn't you die?"

"No," he lied. "That blow to the head hurt plenty, but I didn't die."

Ralof gave him a skeptical look. "Apparently. But then why—"

"I didn't see Ulfric in any of the cells. Do you know where he is?" Arenar asked to change the subject.

The Nord took the bait. "The Imperial captain who captured us took special interest in Ulfric, and I'm sure you can figure out why." Ralof reached out and pulled Arenar closer. "Ulfric must not die here. Not today, else the Empire will continue to force their damned laws on us."

"I'm going to get you all out," Arenar promised.

"Ulfric is the main priority. Get him out," Ralof said. He looked Arenar over. "Do you have a weapon?"

Arenar shook his head. "The Imperials looted me when I was unconscious."

From behind him, Ralof produced an iron dagger. "Managed to get this past the moron who searched me." He passed it through the cell bars. "You better take it."

"I'll be back with Ulfric." Arenar accepted the weapon. Its blade was sharp and of good quality. He turned around and saw the horse thief in the sixth cell, staring at him. The filthy Nord had obviously heard everything; the woeful glint in his eyes screamed for mercy.

"You'll release us too, right?" The horse thief pleaded. Lying on the floor behind him was another prisoner. Though her features were masked by the darkness in which she slept, Arenar assumed she was the female the Imperials had spoken of.

"Once I get the keys, you'll all be free." Without waiting for a response, Arenar silently jogged down the hallway.

After a few turns the hallway led Arenar into a large, poorly lit room he assumed to be a torture chamber. The Imperial captain paced back and forth in front of a cage suspended off the ground. Standing inside the cage was a bruised and battered Ulfric Stormcloak. His clothing was torn in multiple places, each baring skin with bleeding cuts and scrapes. A black, swollen eye was the only visible damage to his face. His hands were bound and his mouth was gagged. _How are they to get any information that way?_

"Looks like General Tullius has defeated the almighty Ulfric Stormcloak!" the captain bragged. Her back was to Arenar, who was crouched and sneaking toward her, dagger in hand. Ulfric saw him, but quickly looked away to not draw attention to him.

She whipped out her steel sword and poked it around the cage to intimidate him, but failed to illicit a response. "Tullius was instructed to kill you whenever the chance showed itself. He wished to bring you back to the Imperial City to give you a proper trial, but orders are orders."

Arenar shook his head. A part of him had been thinking that maybe this General Tullius was a radical, but it turned out he was the sane one. _The Empire really has fallen far._

"I personally will enjoy watching you die," the captain continued. "If I had my way, you would starve to death here; you don't deserve a quick death."

"Neither do you," Arenar said, pressing the small blade hard against her throat, "but that's what you'll get." The captain flailed her sword as Arenar dragged the dagger from left to right. He shoved her to the ground. She spit blood as muffled curses flew from her mouth. The cursing didn't last long.

Arenar claimed her sword as his own, preferring a longsword to a dagger. But he kept the dagger too, just in case. He lowered the cage back to the floor and unlocked it with a key he found on the captain's corpse. He sliced through Ulfric's bindings with his new sword.

"I must admit," Ulfric said once he removed his gag, "I'm surprised to see you, Arenar. The horse thief said your skull was cracked by this captain's heel."

"Yes, well—"

Ulfric raised a hand to silence him. "Regardless of what happened, I thank you for saving me. I won't lie; when the legionaries poured into my camp, I was half-thought you did bring them."

"I hope this shows you that I didn't," Arenar said.

"That it does, or it shows me that you swap sides more than a whore in bed." Ulfric rubbed his jaw. "Damn, that was a good knot."

They walked back towards the cells. Arenar was quiet until the question he'd thought of earlier resurfaced. "Why were you gagged? I'd think they would want to get any information out of you that they could."

"The Empire would have gotten nothing from me. I learned the hard way what trading my life for information can cause." There was a faraway look in his gaze. "I assume I was muted so that I couldn't use the Voice against them."

"The what?" Arenar asked.

Ulfric chuckled, until he realized it was a serious question. "You don't know what the Voice is?" Arenar shook his head. "It's an ancient magic that takes many years of training to use. Other than the Greybeards, I am the only one gifted with this power. But they never leave that damn mountain of theirs."

"Can you show me this power?" Arenar asked curiously.

"It's not very wise to use it if we plan to leave unnoticed. If we get caught, however, make sure you aren't standing in front of me," Ulfric said.

_Glad he could elaborate_.

They entered the cell-filled hallway. He and Ulfric halted at the first pair of cells. From inside the room Ralof cried out, "Ulfric! You look terrible. At least some things never change!"

"You're one to talk!" Ulfric laughed. "I'd be in worse condition if not for the Imperial here. I guess even a few of the Empire's men share our ideals." He shifted his focus to Arenar. "I would like to formally invite you to join our plight. Normally this would involve swearing you under oath, but I want to get out of Helgen as soon as possible."

Arenar was stunned by surprise. _He doesn't know who or what I am, but wants me to fight in his name._ At first Arenar was going to decline as he had no quarrel with the Empire. But after seeing how the Empire ran things these days, his mind was made up, at least as far as leaving Helgen was concerned. "I shall join you," he exclaimed, shaking Ulfric's hand.

From behind the horse thief cleared his throat. "How touching," he said sarcastically. "Now can you get us out of here?"

Arenar nodded and unlocked the door. The horse thief bolted down the hallway instantly. Ulfric removed the keys from the door and said, "I'll free the others."

The female prisoner, no longer lying on the floor, began walking towards him. Face still hidden by darkness she said, "Unlike the Nord, I am not in so much a hurry that I can't express my gratitude. Thank you for saving us."

Arenar opened his mouth to speak but he faltered. _I know that voice_ _._ _But it can't be..._

She finally emerged from both the shadows and the cell. "Do you have a weapon I can use? I'm good with daggers, but anything will work."

The Breton's features were unveiled by torchlight. Her long, silky black hair rested freely on both shoulders. Her emerald eyes blazed fiercely upon her beautiful face, which was of a dark complexion not common in Bretons. She wore a thin blue jacket over a simple white shirt; her brown pants the same color as her shoes. The only noticeable flaw in her appearance stained her neck where a thin, pink scar stretched all the way across her throat.

Arenar's voice failed him while a shocked stare froze him where he stood. Many times since her death he had mistaken several people for her. None had been an exact match... until the prisoner that stood in front of him. He tried to dismiss the prisoner's appearance as coincidental. _The scar though..._

"Are you all right?" she asked after a long, silent pause.

He blinked for the first time since he saw her. In a whisper Arenar finally spoke. "Lielle?"


	6. The World-Eater

**THE WORLD-EATER**

**Katjaa**

All the cells in Helgen's dungeon held a single torch high upon the wall opposite each cell door. All but Katjaa's cell had a torch that was lit. The darkness didn't bother her—she'd spent most of her life in it—but the Nord she shared the room with did. When the Legion encountered and arrested her several hours earlier, she was placed on the same wagon as him. Katjaa couldn't help but laugh when he promised to keep her safe.

Unfortunately, he hadn't understood why and continued to, in his own words, "calm her pretty little Breton head." Annoyance towards the man quickly escalated before the journey to Helgen was over.

As if her captors sensed the torture his presence created, they were thrown in the same cell. So far he'd remained near the bars of the room, where a bit of light from above the adjacent cell illuminated him.

The filthy Nord turned and strolled over to Katjaa, as if somehow sensing she'd thought about him. He sat down on the floor next to her and said, "You can take the bedroll if you want it. I can't allow the delicate woman to rest on this stone floor."

She stole a glance at the ragged cloth provided by the guards to sleep on, close enough to the torchlight to be inspected. It appeared lice-infested and dirtier than the man who offered it. A rather large stain marred where her head would go. It appeared to be mud, but the smell suggest otherwise.

"No thanks," Katjaa said. "You take it."

The Nord scooted closer to her, their legs now touching. _I better not catch anything._ He cleared his throat. "You never did tell me your name."

"You're right."

He laughed nervously. "Wel,l I am Lokir." A minute of silence passed. "And you are..."

Katjaa sighed. "If I tell you my name will you go back over there and leave me alone?" Lokir nodded eagerly. "My name is Katjaa Amarie."

Lokir didn't budge, though at least he remained quiet. Katjaa rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes.

"Are you from Skyrim?" Her eyes opened and she glared angrily at the bothersome Nord. "I'm from Rorikstead, a Whiterun settlement that borders The Reach. Lots of Bretons live up there, around Markarth. Most of them are Forsworn, though."

_Why am I not surprised?_ Katjaa opened her mouth to tell him off but a voice from outside their cell shouted, "Will you shut up?"

She looked up and saw the words came from a Stormcloak soldier in the cell across the hallway. "You will not be getting into her pants anytime soon. Or anybody's pants, for that matter, since we'll be dead before tomorrow afternoon."

Lokir jumped up and ran to the bars. "Why will we be dead?" he anxiously asked the blond Stormcloak.

"The Imperial captain was laughing her ass off about how nice Ulfric will look once his head falls into the pile of his fellow traitors," the blond Nord answered grimly. "A pile that'll consist of all other prisoners here; specifically, you two."

"Damn you Stormcloaks!" Lokir cried, slamming his palm against the wall. "Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell."

Katjaa wasn't sure if he was trying to be literal when he said that. _The wagon that picked me up came from the south; Hammerfell is west._ He turned around and looked at her. "Katjaa. You and me—we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

The blond Nord grunted. "Pray Talos shows you mercy, for General Tullius will not." He turned his back to Lokir and slumped against the floor.

Following his example, Katjaa scooted forward and pressed her back onto the cold, dirt-covered floor. Lokir continued trying to chat with the other Nord, failing to get a response each time. _At least he isn't bothering me anymore._ Slowly she managed to block out the man's rambling enough to fall asleep.

* * *

Katjaa slept peacefully for hours then was violently shaken awake. Her eyes fluttered open and discovered Lokir was the shaker. A foolish grin stretched across his face, showing off what little teeth remained in his mouth. "We are busting out!" he announced joyfully.

She began to ask what he was talking about when the blond Nord whispered, "Keep it down! There are bound to be more legionnaires somewhere in the building, and if you continue to announce our plans as loud as possible we'll be caught!"

"What's going on?" Katjaa asked, pulling herself off the ground.

"A man named Arenar Krex is retrieving Ulfric Stormcloak and the keys to unlock our cells as we speak," the blond Nord explained in a near inaudible voice.

Both he and Lokir filled Katjaa in on the details while they waited for their rescuer to return. Apparently, Arenar was an Imperial that'd stumbled into the Stormcloak's camp prior to their current imprisonment. He attempted to escape during the Legion's ambush but was stopped and left for dead on the Skyrim-Cyrodiil border. Arenar had made his way to Helgen and taken it upon himself to rescue them from execution.

As the blond Nord finished the story with Lokir pleading for help, much to the horse thief's annoyance, two figures entered the hallway from the direction of the torture chamber.

The one on the right she immediately recognized as Ulfric Stormcloak, slightly more injured than she remembered. He had the look of a proud leader, which was hard to pull wearing ruined clothing and bearing a black eye.

The second man, however, Katjaa didn't recognize. Arenar, she dark brown hair stuck up in a few places, like he'd just woken up. His beard was just as short and unkempt. Under his sky-blue eyes was a fresh scar. It didn't take away from his rugged handsomeness. The Nord walking next to him was taller but not by much, and his build was also closer to that of a Nord than of an Imperial.

She'd never met him before, and yet she couldn't shake the feeling the feeling of familiarity.

Ulfric and Arenar stopped in front of Katjaa and faced the cell housing the blond Stormcloak. A smile spread across the Nord's face as he announced, "Ulfric! You look terrible."

"You're one to talk," he said, chuckling. "I'd be in worse condition if not for the Imperial here. I guess even a few of the Empire's men share our ideals." He adopted a serious tone as he spoke to Arenar. " I would like to formally invite you to join our plight. Normally this would involve swearing you under oath, but I want to get out of Helgen as soon as possible."

Arenar stared at Ulfric's extended hand and hesitated. Katjaa was surprised how long he was taking to accept the Nord's offer. _The Stormcloaks seem a lot better than the Empire, at least to me._ She looked around at her surroundings. _Especially right now._

Eventually Arenar's hand joined with Ulfric's and they shook merrily. "I shall join you," he said.

Lokir, who'd been watching the whole time, cleared his throat loudly to gain their attention. "How touching," he said sarcastically. "Now can you can us out of here?"

_What an ass._ Arenar appeared just as annoyed at the impatient man, yet nodded and presented a ring of a few failed attempts, he found the correct key and unlocked the door. Lokir charged at the door, knocking it open. He disappeared from the cell in an instant. She smirked at watching the cowardly Nord run away. _So much for protecting me._

Ulfric removed the keys from the door and said, "I'll get the others."

Katjaa slowly walked towards Arenar. "Unlike the Nord, I am not in so much a hurry that I can't express my gratitude. Thank you for saving us." She noticed Arenar's annoyed expression change to confusion as she neared him. "Do you have a weapon I could use? I'm good with daggers, but anything will work."

Arenar quietly stared at her like she was a ghost. He didn't even blink as Ulfric unlocked the rest of the cells doors then started back to Arenar. He was having trouble getting through the crowded hallway.

Katjaa was growing more and more uncomfortable by Arenar's unending stare, which was now directed upon her scarred neck. Katjaa spoke to break the uncomfortable silence. "Are you all right?"

Finally he blinked, and in a whisper he asked, "Lielle?"

"Who?" Katjaa asked. _He must be mistaking me for someone else. That would explain the staring._ "My name is Katjaa."

He coughed nervously. "Sorry about that. It's just... you remind me of someone I knew a long time ago."

Ulfric finally emerged from the pack of his men and arrived between Katjaa and Arenar. "We are all set." He looked at Arenar. "You're the one who broke in here, Krex, so you'll know how to get us out. Lead on."

Arenar nodded and proceeded to push his way through the hall. Every couple of steps he looked back at Katjaa, who held the iron dagger he'd slipped into her hand. She pretended not to notice, finding it more difficult than ignoring Lokir. _What an odd man._

The prisoners crept quietly through the Keep, Arenar leading them to freedom. The group paused whenever it waited for Arenar's signal that no guards were present. Katjaa trailed behind the rest of the prisoners in case they were caught and a fight broke out. She'd be better picking legionnaires off one-on-one than in a group battle.

"The door back outside is right here," Arenar said as the Stormcloaks and Katjaa filled in to a large room. He was leaning against said door. His voice seemed peaceful enough, but Katjaa had been taught to read people, and his eyes were filled with concern. Arenar pointed to a second door. "Right there is an armory. You all should arm yourselves before we leave... in case we encounter any resistance."

"You heard the man," Ulfric said as he entered the armory. As all the Stormcloaks went for weapons, Katjaa remained still, content with her dagger.

Arenar watched the soldiers enter the room until he and Katjaa were alone. He frantically waved her over. She jogged up beside him. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Look here," he said, pointing at one of many small holes present on the wooden door. Light shined through it from the other side. Katjaa pressed her eye against it and peered outside.

On the dirt road the prisoners had been brought in on were some fifty Imperial soldiers and the commanding officer of the Fourth Legion, General Tullius. He stood out amongst his men, for his armor was marked with intricate designs of the Imperial Dragon. Otherwise nothing about him really popped out. His greyish-white hair glowed from the sunlight bouncing off of it. Cringing on the ground next to him was Lokir. The horse thief was too far away to make out what he was saying to Tullius, but Katjaa just knew he was telling the general everything about what had transpired in the dungeon.

_Damn Nord! Why did you have to run?_ She removed herself from the door and looked at Arenar. "Oh gods," she murmured.

He nodded. "Damn horse thief's blown our only chance of getting out this way." Arenar looked back to where they'd come from. "Perhaps there is another exit out of here through the dungeon?"

There might have been, but Katjaa doubted it would matter. Ulfric struck her as a vengeful sort; they often made the best rebellion leaders, and the worst. _He'll see Tullius and want to rip off his head._

Once the Stormcloaks returned to the room, Arenar explained the situation to Ulfric. Katjaa wasn't surprised when Ulfric drew his sword and said, "We should have left the horse thief in his cell. Now we'll carve a path out of Helgen."

Arenar shook his head. "This is the same situation as the camp. Why'd you surrender then but you'll retaliate now?"

"I expected a trial for me and my men before," Ulfric explained. "Now I know we will either die by execution or in battle. At least in battle we have a chance."

Ulfric shoved Katjaa and Arenar aside and stormed out of the Keep, his soldiers right on his heels. Katjaa considered looking for an alternative exit, but knew she'd hate herself for being a coward. She started to follow the Stormcloaks then Arenar put his hand on her shoulder and stopped her. "Stay behind me, all right?"

_I can handle myself._ Despite herself she nodded. Together they stepped outside, halting near the executioner's block at the rear of the Stormcloaks. Ulfric shouted from the head of the group, "Tullius!"

The general turned looked at them. "Greetings, Ulfric," he said calmly. "Apparently this man isn't a Stormcloak supporter. Unless you wanted him to reveal your escape, though that would be a poor plan even for you." He examined the crowd of true sons of Skyrim. "Where is this Arenar? All I see is Nords."

Arenar, followed by a reluctant Katjaa, stood next to Ulfric a moment later. Tullius scowled at him. "An Imperial fighting against his Empire? You're more of a traitor than any of these Stormcloaks."

"I fight for what I believe in," Arenar said. "And I believe the Empire has fallen too low to deserve my allegiance."

Tullius ignored him and addressed Ulfric. "Turning the Empire's men against it. One of many crimes you've committed, and another you'll pay for." He withdrew his sword; his men followed the example. The Stormcloaks had already been armed. "Will you surrender again and make this easy? Or will you have to bleed out on the ground alongside the rest of these traitors?"

"I'll always choose the second!" Ulfric yelled. He and his soldiers charged at the Imperials. The Imperials took up defensive stances, prepared for the attack. Arenar kept pace with Ulfric while Katjaa faded from sight and looked for a shadow to kill from.

The charging Nords halted when a loud, horrible, inhumane roar echoed throughout Helgen. Everyone's head jerked up, looking to the sky. Even Lokir, while cowering in fear at Tullius' feet, now had his eyes upwards.

"What was that? One of your tricks?" Tullius asked Ulfric.

He shook his head. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

_If neither of them caused the sound, who did?_

As if to answer her question, the beast appeared atop the highest tower in Helgen and roared defiantly. It was reptilian in nature, as far as its facial structures, tail, and scales. It was a massive creature; through balance alone the beast was able to rest on a tower four times smaller than itself on its thick hind legs. In place of forelegs, it had long wings that were completely spread out, revealing what little leathery skin it seemed to have. The scales were dark as midnight; the beast would be rendered invisible at night if not for its demonic red eyes that glowed with an intense hatred.

And it was staring straight at her.

Time was frozen in the courtyard of Helgen's Keep. Everyone remained still, in shock and awe because of the beast. It too did not budge. An eternity passed before someone muttered, "What in Oblivion is that?"

His words were the only sound made since the beast made its appearance. _Well, if the stories are true..._ Katjaa examined the thing again. _Then it must be a—_

"Dragon," Arenar announced. Almost everyone gasped at the realization. Except for Lokir, who whimpered as a stain spread in the crotch of his pants.

Unfortunately, this too alerted the dragon. It roared again, bellowing out even more hatred and power. The sky darkened and fiery boulders began to fall out of the sky, as if it'd shattered and was raining down upon them. With each impact, a fiery explosion and a large crater was created.

"Scatter!" Katjaa screamed when she spotted one of the rocks hurtling right at them.


	7. Destruction of Helgen

**DESTRUCTION OF HELGEN**

**Arenar**

"Scatter!" Katjaa shouted as she ran from the road.

Arenar and the soldiers followed her example, dispersing in every direction but towards the Keep. Only the horse thief, paralyzed by fear, remained where they'd all been standing. A horrific scream rang in Arenar's ears as the descending comet impacted the road.

The force behind the explosion threw Arenar and several others of their feet. He felt a hand grab his arm and help lift him back to his feet. "Come on, Krex," said Ralof's voice. "We have to find cover!"

Arenar shook himself off and nodded to the blond Stormcloak. They ran abreast in the direction of _The Hollybush_ , Ralof claiming he'd seen Ulfric and the Breton—Katjaa—running the same direction. Sure enough, Arenar caught sight of the leader of the Stormcloak Rebellion entering the inn and shutting the door behind him. _Please be in there, Katjaa._

Ralof stormed in first and Arenar right behind him. He released a sigh of relief at seeing Katjaa sitting down at a table near the door, catching her breath alongside Ulfric and a Nord in legionnaire armor.

"You're alive!" Katjaa exclaimed, the first to see Ralof and Arenar. Ulfric and the Imperial soldier turned in their direction. The corners of Ulfric's mouth curled slightly, but the unknown Nord did not seem too enthusiastic. _I wouldn't be either in his position; more or less, he's surrounded by Stormcloaks._

Ralof sat down next to Ulfric, and Arenar next to Katjaa. "Jarl Ulfric," said Ralof, "could the legends be true?"

Ulfric nodded. "Arenar is right. Legends don't burn down villages."

"Dragon or not, Helgen is lost," Katjaa said solemnly. "We have to get out of here or we are dead."

"No," Ulfric said, slamming his hand against the table. "I will not leave my men to die."

"Neither will I," Ralof said.

Ulfric turned to him. "You have to leave. Someone must get to Windhelm and warn Galmar of what is happening. He will lead if I die here, and our city must not suffer the same fate as this village."

Ralof opened his mouth to argue, but shut it and nodded compliantly. Ulfric stood and charged back outside. Arenar could not help but admire his bravery and loyalty to his men.

The door was left ajar, and Arenar could see things had gone from bad to worse out there in the short span of time since the dragon's appearance. Stormcloaks and legionnaires alike were trying to strike the dragon with arrows and magic. It flew too fast for them to hit it. Meanwhile more comets and the dragon's own fire were killing off people left and right. _Why is the monster here?_

Immediately Arenar blamed himself for the destruction. He'd read theories of some godly beings—which he imagined dragons definitely fell into that category—having a sixth sense of detecting powerful magic. _Whatever magic that brings me back from the dead must be powerful._

His concentration broke when he heard a door open from inside the inn. The others heard it too, and jumped to their feet like he did with their weapons drawn and ready to fight.

"Don't hurt me!" the innkeeper yelled. The door Arenar had heard was the one behind the bar, cracked open enough to see the Nord's bedroom. The innkeeper was crouched down behind the bar, peeking over to see who was in his inn. His eyes stopped on Arenar, the only familiar face. "You, Imperial, what is happening?" His stare drifted to Ralof. "And why is this traitor not in the dungeon?"

"Why, you little—" Arenar stopped Ralof from heading towards the scared innkeeper. Ralof cooled off quickly and Arenar explained what was going on to the innkeeper.

"Shor's bones," he whispered. Then he asked the question that was on everyone's mind. "What do we do now?"

The Imperial soldier—a young Nord, his leather helmet sat atop his brown mop—cleared gus throat. "If I may," he said. "I believe I know a route of escape."

Ralof rolled his eyes. "And we should leave you because?" His tone, hostile yet personal, suggested he knew the legionnaire.

The legionnaire sighed. "I would rather not die today, and I think given the circumstances, now is a really good time to set aside our differences." He stepped closer to Ralof and extended his hand. "Can we live today and kill each other tomorrow, Ralof?"

"You were a good man once, Hadvar," Ralof said. "My best friend as a child." He grunted and reluctantly shook Hadvar's hand. "That is the only reason I will trust you with this."

Hadvar broke from their handshake and removed his helmet, setting it on the table. "When we first arrived in Helgen, we examined the dungeons to make sure there weren't any weak points in the cell walls." He snorted, taking a good look at who he was talking to. "We didn't want anyone to escape, as you could imagine. Anyway, none of the cells were in too rough of shape, but the torture chamber's northern wall was partially collapsed and opened up into a cave system. Scouts were sent through a cave's mouth near the road between Helgen and Riverwood and confirmed that the two caves were one in the same."

"You want us to sneak out of Helgen through this cave, then?" Katjaa asked.

"Yes," Hadvar answered. "But it would require us going back outside and reaching the Keep. Of course, that presents the dangers of the dragon and the falling sky. Our best bet would be to find an alternative route that gets us as close to the Keep as possible without running out in the open."

"I agree," Arenar said. He looked to the innkeeper, now standing in the center of the inn. "Is there a back door out of here?"

The innkeeper needed to be asked the question twice before he realized they were talking to him. "I'm sorry. This is a lot to process in such a short time. No, there is no back door. However, there's a cellar in my room that—"

Suddenly the building shook and from nowhere, the dragon's head crashed through the ceiling, dropping debris all over the inn. It roared at the group of four warriors until it noticed the quivering Nord directly underneath him. It lowered further into _The Hollybush_ and swept up the innkeeper in its maw. He screamed in pain as the dragon withdrew itself from the inn.

"So... does anyone want to look for this cellar he mentioned?" Ralof asked. To do that, they would have to pass under the giant hole in the roof left by the dragon. He was met with silence. "Then maybe we should get going before the dragon gets hungry again."

They ran back out through the front door, Hadvar leading the group. Helgen's condition had worsened even more than when Ulfric had left the inn. Most of the buildings had caved in or were on fire, the Keep being the most notable exception. Burning bodies lay everywhere, civilian and solider alike. No one remained that was trying to fight the dragon; all survivors were attempting to get out of the city through a broken portion of Helgen's wall. The dragon focused most of its efforts there.

"We should help them," Arenar said. Katjaa nodded in agreement.

"How? Grow wings and fight the dragon as an equal?" Hadvar asked. "There's no helping them. We can only help ourselves."

Arenar hated leaving people to their deaths while he would live, but saw reason in the legionnaire's words and fell silent.

Hadvar led them through alleyways and backstreets to avoid the dragon's sight. It wasn't long before they Keep was close in sight. They'd still have to run across the courtyard, but there wasn't much distance between them and the Keep, except for the remains of the horse thief's body.

Hadvar looked back at them and asked, "Who wants to go first?"

"It was your idea to do this," Ralof said, smirking.

"Well then." Hadvar exhaled nervously and then burst into a sprint. He kept glancing at the sky, watching out for the dragon or plummeting rocks. A minute later he arrived safely inside the already opened doorway to the Keep. _Wait, already open? It was closed last time I saw it._ He waved his hand anxiously, urging them to follow.

Ralof looked over his shoulder at Arenar. "If I get killed out there, return the favor to Hadvar for me," he said with a smirk. Arenar promised he would and Ralof took off for the Keep. Just like the legionnaire, he reached it without any problem.

Katjaa turned to him. "You ready?" she asked. Arenar didn't answer, once again caught off guard by her appearance. He had no doubt in his mind that she resembled Lielle in every way. He would think them related if Lielle had not told him herself that she had no siblings and neither had her parents.

He realized he was staring at her again, and she was awkwardly returning it. He shook his head. "Uh, yeah. Let's go."

They ran from the alleyway and immediately heard the roar of the dragon get much closer. Arenar looked over his shoulder and saw the winged beast heading straight for them. It would be upon them before they reached the door. "Run faster!" he yelled.

_"YOL-TOOR-SHUL!"_

Arenar risked another glance and saw flames erupting from the dragon's mouth. It planned to sweep over them like it had so many others. Just as he and Katjaa would have been caught in the fire's path, he shoved her out of its way and dove next to her.

Katjaa, at least, went unscathed. Arenar cursed at the stabbing pain of fire burning his leg.


	8. Escaping Helgen

**ESCAPING HELGEN**

**Katjaa**

"Get out here and help me!" Katjaa shouted to Ralof and Hadvar.

The Stormcloak and the legionnaire left the safety of Helgen's Keep and ran to her and Arenar. Arenar was hissing and wincing at the pain shooting up his leg. She'd helped him bat out the flames on his pants but wasn't strong enough to carry the large Imperial by herself.

Ralof and Hadvar each put one of Arenar's arms on their shoulders and got him up. He hobbled on his good leg to the Keep while Katjaa took the rear behind the three of them, her eye on the dragon. It wasn't coming back around just yet, but could catch up to them again if it decided to soon.

She couldn't believe Arenar had done that. She'd known him for less than half an hour and he'd already rescued her twice. It would have been easy for him to just turn and run from the dragon's fire instead of pushing her out of harm's way. She couldn't honestly say she would've done the same in his shoes, but was grateful he had. _I won't let him die in this village. I owe him too much._

"Shut the door!" Arenar said once all four were inside the first room of the Keep.

Katjaa did so and the Nords propped Arenar against a wall. Ralof proceeded back into the armory for a potion or anything to take care of Arenar's leg. Hadvar rolled up the tattered pant leg and examined the burn. There was a lot of blood, and where there wasn't his flesh was a dark color. It looked bad and, if not properly taken care of, would result in permanent damage to his leg. _He might not walk again._

For what was far from the first time, Katjaa cursed her lack of magical ability. Bretons were renowned for their skills in the arcane arts, and yet she couldn't manage the simplest of spells.

But apparently Arenar could. After catching his breath, he scooted down the wall until he was sat on the floor. He raised a hand over his leg and applied a Restoration spell. His flesh began stitching itself back together as the orange glow of the healing magic rained down upon the burns. He couldn't maintain the spell for long, but the wound certainly looked better once he was done.

Ralof emerged from the armory. "Nothing left in there but a couple of rusty swords. Unless you want me to amputate you, then I can't help."

"Funny," Arenar said. "But that'll be unnecessary; I'm feeling better already." He attempted to stand up without aid but cursed and returned to his position on the floor. "Or maybe not. I've never been great with magic."

"Let me help you," Ralof offered. The Nord ducked down, allowing Arenar to wrap his arm back around him. Both stood at the same time, the Imperial leaning on his companion. "There's going to be someone in Riverwood that can heal you, or some potions to do the same."

"Then let's get a move on," Arenar said. He nodded to Ralof and the two headed for the dungeon. Hadvar and Katjaa followed closely behind.

In the deepest part of the dungeon was the torture chamber. Just as Hadvar had said, half of the farthest north wall no longer stood. Where what was once a part of the wall's foundation now dropped off into a cavern with a downward slope. A light far down the tunnel shone brightly in the otherwise dark area. "Is there someone else down here?" she asked no one in particular.

Hadvar shrugged and answered, "Perhaps the scouts never extinguished their torches, though that's unlikely. Or maybe others remembered this route and decided to take it as well. Nearly every Imperial soldier was informed about the wall in case prisoners went missing." He jumped into the cave and helped Arenar off the ledge.

Ralof hopped in next and took Arenar back. "I'll scout ahead to warn any Imperials about you," Hadvar told the other Nord.

Katjaa watched the soldier walk to the light until he passed by it and vanished from sight. She climbed down into the cave and next to Arenar. She rested her hand on his shoulder in a comforting way. "You gonna be okay?"

"I'll be fine," Arenar said, grinning weakly. "I've been through far worse than this, believe it or not." He nodded to Ralof that he was ready to go. They slowly traveled down the underground tunnel with Katjaa leading a little further ahead.

Soon she heard what sounded like talking, and after a few twists and turns, it had grown louder and more defined as arguing. _What's going on?_ She slowed to a gentler pace and shifted to a crouch. A large opening appeared before her a minute later. Several torches lit up the area, far enough away from Katjaa to leave her hidden by darkness. Hadvar was in the middle of the area, his back to her, and his path was blocked by four Stormcloaks. Each was armed and ready to fight the legionnaire.

"How many times must I tell you? Hadvar asked frantically. "I am with a group of your fellows. We're trying to escape, just like you!"

"Then where are they!" one of them shouted. His eyes darted behind Hadvar to the tunnel's mouth where Katjaa currently sat, dagger in hand. Shadows concealed her from the man, so he returned to Hadvar and yelled, "I see no one but you!"

"One of the men is injured. I volunteered to scout ahead in case of danger," Hadvar explained.

"Injured? I bet you're the one who did it!" The other Stormcloaks nodded in agreement. "More likely you're just a lying, murderous bastard like everyone who fights for the Empire! Any Stormcloak you see is a threat, and I know there's no way you'd leave one injured. No, you stab us in the back and call _us_ the traitors! You're the traitor; a Nord fighting against his own!"

"This is neither the time nor place for this!" Hadvar shouted. "We have to escape now!"

The leader smiled viciously. "I think we've got enough time to cut you down." He stepped forward and swinging his two-handed battle axe at Hadvar. The Imperial soldier dropped to the dirt, narrowly avoiding the attack, and scooted away from his assailant. "No more lies will pass your lips," the Stormcloak said as he patiently chased his prey.

Katjaa ran into the light with her dagger extended. She plowed into the leader and knocked him, plunging the blade deep into the man's chest. She pounced off him and at the Stormcloak to her right, slashing his arm. The wounded Nord shoved her away. She tripped on the uneven cave floor. The Stormcloak roared as he lifted his greatsword high above his head.

The sword struck the earth, Katjaa rolling out of its way. She bounced to her feet, anticipating retaliation from the two Stormcloaks she had ignored. To her surprise, one was already dead an angry Hadvar dueled the other. _He recovered quickly._

A vicious shout from her opponent caught Katjaa's attention. She backed up too late, earning a cut from his greatsword across her unguarded stomach. She was lucky; it was barely more than a graze.

Unfazed, she closed in fast and rapidly jabbed her dagger into the man. He cried out in pain as his blood sprayed out of his abdomen. His greatsword fell next to his dead comrades and he soon followed.

A sharp curse from the remaining Stormcloak alerted Katjaa of his loss to Hadvar before she turned to confirm it. They were both covered in sweat and blood, but neither had been roughed up too much. Katjaa's minor scratch was the worse of either of their injuries. "Thanks for the help," Hadvar said.

"No problem."

"What happened here?" Ralof demanded. Hadvar and Katjaa watched him walk over with Arenar, now holding the torch she'd passed earlier. He inspected the bodies. "Oh," he sighed with relief as he looked at the one of their faces. "This here is—was Nodir. Bit of a dick, him and his men. None of them were very bright either, as you can plainly see."

"They attacked Hadvar first," Katjaa offered, hoping to make the situation less tense. "He was trying to calm them down, saying that we were all on the same side."

Ralof didn't answer right away. "Damn dragon. Damn everything. Dumb men don't deserve to die just because they're dumb." Another short pause, then he sighed again. "But I know you were just defending yourselves. I would have done the same thing. Perhaps they have something on them that we could use?"

Katjaa crouched down and started searching the corpses. On Nodir she found a steel dagger, which she accepted happily. She'd been trained to fight with a dagger in each for a small collection of Septims, nothing else was salvageable.

"I don't suppose they had any healing potions on them, did they?" Arenar asked. Katjaa shook her head. "I guess that would just be too convenient, huh?" As she laughed, his eyes went down to her wound and were filled with concern. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine," Katjaa assured him. "I barely notice it."

"If you say so," he said, unconvinced. Arenar looked at Hadvar. "Where do we go now?"

Hadvar pointed to a large gap in the cave's wall. "Through there. It won't be long before we get outside." Without another word the group proceeded to follow the Imperial soldier. There was a silent agreement among them not to split up anymore. Every few minutes Arenar made them stop to check on Katjaa; each time she assured him she was still fine and that his burns were far more severe. _He cares more for my safety than his own._

The cave's exit was just a few yards in front of the group when Katjaa first heard the spiders. Darkness blinded her from seeing them, but the skittering noise was unmistakable. The others noticed the noise too and started walking faster.

"Woah!" Ralof and Arenar yelled at the same time. Katjaa saw them fall onto the ground; the torch he was carrying rolled to her feet. She tucked her iron dagger into her back pocket and picked up the light source. A thin silk fiber had tripped them.

Hadvar helped the pair up while Katjaa examined the rest of the cave with the torch. Webs covered the walls and the exit. She touched the torch's fire to it and set it ablaze. Seconds later, ashes were all that remained.

"Watch out!" Arenar warned. He pointed above her head to a descending spider the size of a large dog. Katjaa raised the steel dagger up and pierced it in the underbelly. It screeched painfully and ascended back up to the ceiling. Another replaced it behind Hadvar, but a swift kick made it decide to return from whence it came.

Katjaa looked up anxiously, but several minutes passed without anything else coming down onto the group. "That was close," she said too soon.

Behind Ralof and Arenar materialized a spider that was five times the size of the previous two. _Great, we met the mother._

"Duck!" she yelled at the men. She chucked the torch at the arachnid, nailing its bulky the forehead. Fire spread across its body, causing it to scurry about frantically until it expired.

"I hate those damn things," Ralof said. "Too many eyes, you know?"

"What next, giant snakes?" Hadvar asked.

"Didn't you know about them?" Arenar asked the Imperial soldier. He responded with a shake of his head. "Your scouts weren't very good at relaying information apparently." He exhaled deeply, obviously becoming more uncomfortable by his damaged leg. "Let's get a move on." And with that, the group left the cave.


	9. The Village of Riverwood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely forgot I was supposed to be uploading chapters from FFN to this website. I'm going to try and stick to my original schedule of two chapters every couple days.

**THE VILLAGE OF RIVERWOOD**

**Katjaa**

The sky had returned to its natural color by the time the group emerged from the cave. The air was cold but far from unbearably so. There was no actual road connecting from the cave's mouth but instead a rural dirt trail. As they walked the trail, Katjaa could see only the smoke coming from Helgen and not the village itself.

"Get down!" Hadvar ordered. Just as they did so, the dragon appeared high in the sky, flying away from Helgen. It stayed in sight until disappear behind a mountain range off in the distance.

"There he goes. Looks like he is gone for good now," Ralof said. "Guess it's done with Helgen. Maybe if we're lucky, the Imperial City is next." Hadvar shot the blond Nord a dirty look before continuing down the dirt trail.

"We need get that leg taken care of," Katjaa told Arenar. "It's going to need a lot more healing before you're in proper shape. And the last thing it needs is to get infected out here."

Arenar cursed as he tripped over his feet. Ralof caught quickly. "That doesn't sound like a bad idea," he admitted once they began walking again. "I don't have much in terms of magicka. I can do some more healing tomorrow, maybe."

"Someone will have supplies in Riverwood," Hadvar assured him.

Fifteen minutes passed before the group made it to the main road. Nearby was a sign pointing the directions of nearby settlements. Riverwood was along their current path while Helgen and Falkreath were in the opposite direction. Paused for a moment, Katjaa took a better look at the mountain range. There seemed to be some sort of ruins built upon the mountain—large ruins, considering how clearly she the large stone archways leading up to them. She imagined it must be some impressive tomb or ancient settlement to have such an amazing entrance.

Hadvar had noticed her observing the ruins and, not much later, said, "Bleak Falls Barrow. When I was a boy, that place always used to give me nightmares. Draugr creeping down the mountain to climb through my window at night, that sort of thing. I admit, I still don't much like the look of it."

"Draugr?" she asked.

"The reanimated corpses of long dead Nords," Hadvar clarified. "Never seen one myself, though adventurers constantly report of the walking dead attacking them on sight."

"I never understood how my sister could stand living in the shadow of that place," Ralof commented. "I guess you get used to it."

Ralof and Hadvar both stated that at a steady pace, the walk between Helgen and Riverwood using the main roads was typically a half hour journey. Considering Arenar's state, however, their pace was steady but far slower than a normal man's walk. Further along the road were three pillars, seemingly placed in the middle of nowhere. "What are those?" she asked.

"These are the Guardian Stones, three of the thirteen ancient standing stones that dot Skyrim's landscape. Legend tells of the stones granting special powers to heroes of old, giving them the ability to rewrite their fate," Hadvar explained.

Katjaa paused for a moment, considering approaching them. She decided against it when Ralof said, "Don't waste your time. Some legends are just legends. Those are just fancy rocks."

They continued. Katjaa followed behind Ralof and Arenar by a few feet while Hadvar was of a similar distance in front of them. She'd been watching the river next to the road gently flow south when she noticed the blond Nord turn his head to look at her. She easily tricked him into thinking she was minding her own business, which she had been before now. He leaned in close to Arenar and whispered into his ear.

She sped up a little and focused in on what was obviously meant to be a private conversation. "...isn't Stormcloak territory," Ralof warned. "If we're ahead of the news from Helgen we should be fine as long as we don't do anything stupid. If we run into any Imperials, just let me do the talking, all right?" Arenar nodded.

_He doesn't seem to trust me._ Katjaa wasn't worried so much about Ralof's opinion, but she hoped she'd left a better impression on Arenar than that. _He did save my life twice, after all. At the cost of serious injury._

Ralof pointed in the same direction they had been walking a while afterwards, no longer treating her like an enemy. "We'll be in Riverwood before long; ten minutes, more or less." He looked at Arenar and added, "I'm sure we'll get you fixed up in no time."

Riverwood looked like a happy community, if a bit smaller than Katjaa anticipated. The entrance into the tiny village cut through a stone wall, doubling as an elongated watch tower though without any patrolling guards. In fact, Riverwood appeared completely defenseless, not a guard in wall itself did not circle around the entire village, which made her feel even less protected. _Not as if Helgen's walls helped it any._

There was no sign of Imperial control over the village, though Ralof's concern didn't make her assume it was owned by the Stormcloaks either. The White River ran through Riverwood, dividing it between the actual settlement and a lumber mill Ralof said belonged to his sister Gerdur and her husband Hod. As the group passed a blacksmith's hut, absent of any working blacksmith, Hadvar mentioned the it was owned and operated by his Uncle Alvor. Opposite the blacksmith was a general goods store. Further down the road was an inn named _The Sleeping Giant Inn._

Hadvar looked back at the cold forge. "Odd he isn't working. Guess it's a good thing he isn't; he'd have a heart attack if he saw me with a Stormcloak."

"I know he's a Talos worshiper, so I'll let that one slide," Ralof responded.

"Why does that matter?" Arenar asked. No one answered.

A woman was raving about seeing a dragon to her son, but he didn't believe her. _I guess the news hasn't reached here yet._ Two young children that looked to be around eight or nine played in front of the inn with a dog. Neither seemed to notice the group, but Ralof mentioned the boy was his nephew and Hadvar recognized the girl as his cousin. A wood elf currently was situating a fallen log into the saw of the mill. Other than those few people, the group was alone outside.

"I'm not sure where we should go," Hadvar admitted. "My aunt and uncle would help us if not for Ralof."

The Stormcloak grunted. "My sister won't want to deal with any of the Empire's scum."

"Guys!" Arenar shouted. "Can we be bitter rivals later? You're bickering is getting on my last nerve!" Both Nords looked ashamedly at the ground. "Now, let's go to the inn, unless that's too much of a problem." Neither man objected.

"I'll go to the Riverwood Trader, see if Lucan has some potions. I'll meet you all in the inn," Hadvar said. He turned around and headed back to the store.

They entered _The Sleeping Giant Inn._ A fire pit burned in the middle of the tavern. Most of the walls had empty tables sitting along them. The rest of the wall space was reserved for rentable rooms. Animal skin rugs laid in front of a few chairs that sat at the end of the fire pit closest to Katjaa. A drunken Nord was mumbling incoherently from one of the chairs.

At the far end of the room sat the bar and a bartender, a Nord with no real distinguishable features. Diagonal from the bar was an alchemy table. Sweeping nearby was an older Breton woman in a long blue dress. The woman was arguing with the man behind the bar about ale. _She might be the owner._ Her tone was calm though, and the way the two looked at each other, Katjaa guessed they were a married couple.

"Set me down right there," Arenar said. Ralof did as directed and placed the injured man in an empty chair. Arenar winced as he fell back into it. "Hadvar has best hurry. It won't do this place well if I bleed all over it."

The Breton closed in once she noticed the group—specifically Arenar. Katjaa assumed she was in her early-to-mid fifties. She was of Katjaa's height but had much paler skin. Her blond hair was tied back in a long ponytail. Her hazel eyes were wise. Under dress appeared to be a slightly muscular frame. _Must be an illusion._

"What happened to you?" she asked, her voice tough and stubborn like a Nord's.

"I got hurt," Arenar answered plainly.

"No shit," the Breton said.

Ralof started for the door. "I'll see if my sister has any bandages for you." He looked at the Breton owner. "Delphine, do you mind if he stays here?"

Delphine shrugged. "You're responsible for any blood on the floor."

Ralof nodded and left the inn.

She faced Arenar and Katjaa, who was standing next to him, and asked, "So, how did you get hurt?"

Katjaa and Arenar glanced at one another. A silent agreement was made between them to keep the truth a secret. "I, uh, tried to put out a fire with my foot. Didn't work out too well."

_Wow, he's bad at lying._

"Did a wolf do that?" Delphine questioned, pointing to the scratch on Katjaa's stomach. The bleeding had stopped some time ago, but her shirt was stained and torn.

"Bandits tried to take advantage of us with Arenar in such a bad state," Katjaa said. "This was the worst they did." Her lie was more believable, but Katjaa could tell Delphine hadn't fallen for it.

"I see," Delphine said, unconvinced.

The door opened and Hadvar entered, carrying two small bottles. One was a light red often associated with healing potions. The other a darker red Katjaa assumed was for his burns. "You're luckier than you may think, Arenar." The soldier approached Arenar, giving a quick nod to the innkeeper. "The Riverwood Trader was broken into last night. The only potions not broken or stolen were these two."

"Hand them here," Arenar said. He yanked the stopper off the healing potion and down its contents. He made a face as the liquid ran down his throat. "Why do these always taste bad? Does that help the healing process?" he joked. He placed the empty bottle on the floor and consumed the second potion. "Mmm... that's better. Sort of has a honey aftertaste."

"We should get you to a room before you pass out," Hadvar advised. "Lucan said the anti-burn one will make you drowsy." He helped Arenar from the seat. "Any open rooms?"

Delphine pointed to a door in the far left corner of the inn. "Cost you ten Septims."

"Can you cover it?" Hadvar asked Katjaa. "My hands are full." Arenar was already getting droopy-eyed from the potion.

"No problem." She began counting out the coins as Hadvar unlocked the room's door, dragging Arenar inside with some difficulty.

Once the coins were in Delphine's palm she said, "Odd to see Hadvar and Ralof in the same company, what with them being openly supporting opposite sides of the Stormcloak Rebellion."

"Yeah, well, you know how those things go," Katjaa said slowly, too distracted to think of a good excuse. Ralof returned to the inn with fresh bandages. "He's in here." Ralof followed her into Arenar's room, which was not much larger than a broom closet. It had the essentials and nothing else: a bed, four walls, a ceiling, and a floor. Arenar lay on his bed, sound asleep. His steel sword rested in the middle of the room, likely having been dropped by accident. Hadvar sat on an uncomfortable looking chair, the only other furniture the room offered.

Katjaa carefully tugged up his pant leg and examined the damage. He was still bleeding a little bit, but the burns were still rather nasty. Numerous old scars covered his leg, something Katjaa found interesting. Ralof handed her the bandages, and slowly she wrapped the wound, making sure not to move his leg too much. "That's about all we can do for him."

Ralof said, "Hod may have some clothes for him. He's about the size of a Nord. Gerdur might give you a new shirt as well, but it'll be rather big on you."

"My uncle might have some equipment you can have," Hadvar proposed. "It won't be of the highest quality, but it'll be better than nothing."

"Thank you both, but we can't leave him alone," Katjaa reminded them. Arenar had done too much for her to just leave him completely alone.

Delphine cleared her throat, directing their attention to her. "I'll make sure nothing happens to him while you're out," she offered.

Katjaa looked at her skeptically. She didn't trust this stranger, and it was obvious Delphine didn't believe them. But her rumbling stomach—a reminder that she hadn't eaten since long before her arrest—won out. "Um... all right. Thanks." She slowly followed the Nords out of the inn, glancing back once at the innkeeper. She readily returned the stare.

* * *

Katjaa didn't come back to _The Sleeping Giant Inn_ until much later that evening. As Ralof had said, his sister and brother-in-law were more than happy to supply fresh clothes. Katjaa swapped her old shirt right away with the newer one that hung down almost to her waist. Ralof took a new shirt and pair of pants to the Imperial's room when she'd changed. She remained at their home for about two hours, retelling the story of the group's escape and enjoying the hospitality, wishing they would offer a small bite of anything.

Katjaa then moved on to the blacksmith's home. She arrived as the family sat down to eat dinner. Alvor's wife, Sigrid, thankfully invited her to join them. They were having beef stew with bread rolls on the side. She immediately accepted the offer. The food was filling, if a bit bland. She stuffed her bread into her pocket to save for Arenar.

After the meal, Alvor and Katjaa searched a stockpile of old armor for her and Arenar. She offered to pay—though the amount of money she had definitely wouldn't cover one, let alone two armor sets—but Alvor had refused. It took some time to collect a full suit of leather armor from a pile of discarded items that'd never sold. He also found another steel dagger to replace her iron one. The armor was light, which she preferred, but was not as comfortable as what the Imperial troops confiscated from her. Some iron armor for Arenar was scavenged also, but Alvor decided to hold onto it until the man could retrieve it himself.

Now, at around nine at night, Katjaa walked into the inn, fully outfitted in her new armor. Hadvar had given her the key to Arenar's room during dinner. The Imperial hadn't moved a muscle in her absence. His bandages were stained red so she decided to apply fresh ones.

Right as she finished wrapping his leg for the second time, there was a knock on the door. She opened it and found Delphine on the other side. "Thank you for watching him," Katjaa said. "I hope there weren't any problems."

"There weren't any," Delphine said.

"Is there another room available?" Delphine nodded. Katjaa fished out ten Septims and handed them to Delphine.

"Follow me." The innkeeper led Katjaa across the main hall to a room across from Arenar's. She unlocked the door with a small key and stepped aside, handing Katjaa the key as she entered. The room was exactly the same as the Imperial's, minus a sleeping injured man on the bed.

Katjaa heard a click as the door closed behind her. She turned around to see Delphine in the room, leaning against the now-locked door, arms folded over her chest. Instinctively, Katjaa rested her hands on her daggers, one located on each hip. "Is there anything else?" she asked hostilely.

"Not much," Delphine said nonchalantly. "I just wanted to hear the truth."

"The truth?" Katjaa asked, playing dumb. "About what?"

"How Arenar got burned. There's no way a small campfire would do that much damage. And there's the matter of Ralof and Hadvar not strangling each other."

Katjaa sighed. It was only a matter of time before news of Helgen spread everywhere. Delphine would be able to put two and two together then, but she'd fulfilled her promise to watch out for Arenar. "You're right. We lied. What do you want to know?"

"First of all, I still don't know your name," Delphine said.

"I am Katjaa Amarie. He is Arenar... Krex, if I remember correctly.

Delphine nodded. "Well then, Katjaa, how did Arenar get hurt?"

So Katjaa told her everything. _Almost_ everything; Katjaa saw no reason to reveal she'd been a prisoner of the Empire alongside Ralof and the rest of the Stormcloaks. Katjaa was entirely innocent—as far as the crimes she'd been arrested for were concerned—but there was no way of really proving that. She was surprised when at the mention of dragons, Delphine didn't react any more than raising her eyebrows in surprise.

When she was finished, Delphine silently processed the information and eventually nodded. "You don't have to worry about me turning you in for aiding the Stormcloaks. They aren't the real enemy. That is the Thalmor." Her voice deepened with intense hostility with that last word. _Not that I don't hate the damned Aldmeri Dominion, too, after what it did to me_. "But right now that dragon is the biggest threat. Without a wall or guards, Riverwood is more defenseless than Helgen."

Katjaa shook her head. "Neither of those did much of anything to stop or even slow the dragon."

The other woman sighed. "If we have guards, the dragon will likely be more focused on them if it attacks Riverwood, allowing more time for civilians to escape." Katjaa must have had a slightly sickened expression on her face because Delphine added, "Don't look at me like that. I know it is morbid, but we don't have a lot of options."

_She does have a point._ "You're right," Katjaa agreed. "So why aren't there guards here?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Delphine admitted. "A month ago we had all four guards withdrawn back to Whiterun Hold. Likely Jarl Balgruuf was worried about the brewing civil war. With High King Torygg killed by Ulfric, it's only a matter of time before one side or the other tries to take Whiterun. Being in the heart of Skyrim, it is a strategic location."

"So why would the Jarl send guards now when the threat of invasion is even more so on the horizon?"

"I can't honestly say he would, but we have to hope. You have firsthand experience with the dragon. Maybe you could find some way to convince him."

Katjaa didn't much like being volunteered for things. In this case, however, she saw no reason not to help these people. Not after seeing the horrible destruction of Helgen. "All right, then. Once Arenar can walk on his own, we'll head out to Whiterun and petition the Jarl for guards."

"That will take a few days. We need to alert the Jarl as soon as possible," Delphine reminded her. "You should leave early tomorrow morning. You'll reach the city by nightfall."

Katjaa didn't want to leave Arenar alone. "I can't leave without him. What if—"

"Riverwood needs you!" Delphine interrupted. "I'll take care of him. He can stay here, free of charge, until he can meet up with you in Whiterun."

_That's probably for the best._ "Fine. When I wake tomorrow, I'll head out. Unless Arenar's awake too, then I'll say goodbye first."

"So it's a plan." Delphine managed a tight smile and it vanished just as suddenly. "I'm going to head back to the bar. I'd suggest you rest." Delphine turned around and opened the door. "Goodnight."

"Wait," Katjaa said. The other woman froze outside the room. "Thank you again for what you're doing. I apologize if our lies offended you. We we're simply trying to watch our backs after walking into Oblivion and back."

"No harm, no foul," Delphine said as she shut the door. "Besides, you're not the only one with secrets." The door closed completely, leaving Katjaa awfully curious about the Breton's last words. Katjaa removed her armor and laid it all in a pile on the wooden floor. She removed her daggers and placed them on the chair. Only when she fell onto the bed did she realize how exhausted she was.

Immediately Katjaa fell asleep. Nightmares of the dragon plagued her throughout the night.


	10. The Next Day

**THE NEXT DAY**

**Arenar**

The pit of his stomach churned without mercy. Arenar awoke and sat up immediately, feeling the potions he drank yesterday make their way back up his throat. He quickly looked around the room, searching for anything to throw up in. Close by his bed was a bucket. His hand shot out and brought it to his face. _Weird, this is full._ Violently he released the bile into the bucket before he could further examine the liquid already inside.

Once his stomach was done expelling its contents, Arenar set down the bucket and examined his room. All he'd seen of it yesterday was the door, having fallen asleep before Hadvar unlocked it. He stretched out his good leg and almost touched the wall opposite him. _Small room._ The bucket had been placed in front of a chair, and on the chair were fresh clothes presumably meant for him. Arenar's bad leg was covered in bandages.

The steel sword he'd stolen from the Imperial captain leaned against the chair. Just the sight of it filled him with despair. Trueflame was gone; the single-handed weapon originally crafted for Indoril Nerevar, given to him by the Dwemer King as a wedding gift. The Nerevarine had been instructed to rebuild Trueflame some three thousand years later.

It had been taken by the legionnaires when he'd died near the Stormcloak camp, he remembered. Other than the Moon-and-Star, the sword was his only remaining physical connection to Morrowind. Arenar had never wielded a weapon that was more suited to his fighting style before it. The balance was perfect, the weight was minimal, and the fire enchantment had never need be recharged by a soul gem.

Now Trueflame was gone. Arenar had hoped to find it and the rest of his gear inside Helgen's Keep during the escape. His hopes had been high when he'd discovered the armory. But Trueflame hadn't been there. Neither had the rest of his supplies, but he would have traded all of it to get back his sword.

A light tapping began on the opposite side of his bedroom door. _Great time for a visitor._ Arenar couldn't find anything to wipe his mouth with so he removed his dirty shirt and used it. _I have a replacement for it now._ "Come in," he said when he was finished.

The door creaked open and Katjaa's head popped in, leather cap covering the top of her head. "How long have you been awake?" she asked.

Arenar shrugged. "A couple of minutes, maybe less. What time is it?"

"Sunrise."

"Damn, I slept for quite a while. Hadvar wasn't lying about that."

Katjaa nodded. "How are you doing? Better?"

He glanced down to his puke bucket and chuckled. "Well, I don't feel like cutting off my leg to relieve the pain anymore, so that's a good start. I'm pretty thirsty, though. Could you get me something to drink?"

"You have a bucket of water right there," Katjaa pointed out as she entered the room completely. Now Arenar could see she had on a full set of leather armor. Her daggers were strapped to her belt, one on each hip. A small pack was hanging on her shoulders. _You're looking more and more like Lielle._ "I can go get you a cup if you want one."

"No need. I don't plan on drinking from this anytime soon."

"Wow. You, ah, have a lot of scars."

That he did. Arenar looked down at his torso, marred with healed-over slashes and grazes from swords and axes and many other weapons over a span of two hundred years. His back was just as terrible a sight if not more so. Her eyes were directed to one scar in particular, one of the more brutal ones he had. It was the hand-shaped burn atop his heart, where the Justicar in Leyawiin had killed him thirty years earlier.

"Yeah. I've been in a lot of fights," he said vaguely. He nodded at the pile of clothes. "I'm assuming those are for me?" She nodded. "Good. Sleeping in blood covered pants makes him wish for fresher clothing. Even if it is his own blood. May I ask who donated these?"

"Ralof's brother-in-law. Ralof and I told him you were pretty big for an Imperial, and he said these were all too small for him anymore, so hopefully they're a good fit."

"You have my thanks." He grabbed the dark blue tunic and put it on. It was actually a tight fit, surprisingly, and made of a thicker than his old shirt. _Some prospering clothing for the cold north of Skyrim; wish I would have thought to get something similar in the first place._ He then pulled the pants over to him. "I'd imagine you want to turn around now. Wouldn't want to shock you or anything," he said with a cocky smile.

"Shock me how? By letting me down?" Katjaa teased.

"Well, well. The Breton can make jokes. Lies all the same, but still pretty funny." Arenar said as he tried to stand. Once the pain shot through his leg he sat right back down on the mattress. His leg didn't hurt as badly as yesterday, though it still wasn't ready to support his full weight. He placed the pants back where he found them. "I don't thinking I'll be able to salvage my dancing skills from these leg injuries. Damn shame."

Katjaa threw her head back and laughed. "Damn shame indeed. However will you go on?"

"I probably won't be able to. Without my dancing, I am nothing!" He threw his hands up dramatically and they both erupted into fits of laughter. A few minutes passed before the giggling faded away.

Arenar couldn't take his eyes off of the magnificent woman. In the one day he'd known her, she'd helped rescue him from Helgen, had fought and killed two men that would have threatened his safety and two spiders that did the same; he looked down at the bandages, suspecting she'd dressed his wounds as well. _Lielle rescued me the first time I met her, too._

She walked over to his bed and sat down right next to him. _"_ If you are hungry, you can have these." She pulled out a couple chunks of bread from a side pocket and handed them to him. "They might be a little—"

Before she could finish talking, Arenar had wolfed it down. He choked a little bit as he swallowed, having wolfed it down almost too fast to chew. "Not bad. It was a little stale. Next time I'd prefer something fresher," he joked.

The Breton flashed him an enchanted smile as she said, "Delphine's right, you are a wise ass." Mentioning the innkeeper's name made her smile go away. "Speaking of Delphine, I have to get going soon. I have a full day of walking ahead of me. If I hurry, I'll be in Whiterun just at sundown."

"Whiterun?" Arenar asked. "What's in Whiterun?"

"Delphine approached me last night and had me tell her the truth about Helgen and the dragon. She wants me to speak with Jarl Balgruuf and request for some guards to protect Riverwood, in case the dragon chooses Riverwood as its next target."

"But guards didn't do anything to save Helgen. Really, all they were was a distraction that gave maybe a handful of villagers the chance to get out."

"That's what I told her."

Arenar waited. When Katjaa didn't add anything else he asked, "So why does she want guards?"

Katjaa broke eye contact and looked at the floor. "Like you said: a distraction. The more time the dragon spends attacking the guards, the more likely villagers will be able to escape." She didn't look happy, so he suspected she didn't agree to the plan.

Having morals was a pain, something Arenar had learned well into his early days of immortality. Vivec, one of the Tribunal members that had played a part in Nerevar's death, had taught Arenar how to halt the Heart of Lorkhan from supplying Dagoth Ur with anymore power, despite knowing that it would his power too.

Arenar had returned to the mortal god after killing Almalexia, and had informed him that she and Sotha Sil were dead. Vivec praised him for the deed, and promised that he would use what little power he had left for good. Arenar knew the man would try, but he also knew the man was a murderer and manipulative. With a quick swipe of Trueflame, the Anticipation of Mephala's head had fallen to the floor.

He patted her on the back. "If there was another way, I would suggest we take it. But since there's not, her plan probably is the best way to go."

"Yeah," Katjaa sighed. "Both of you are probably right. Still..." She sighed again. "Oh, well. I better get on the road now. I have a tent in my pack, but I'd rather not have to camp tonight."

She turned around and placed her hand on the door knob. "All right, then. I'll meet you by the northern gate as soon as I get dressed. I'll need a walking stick or a crutch of some kind if I want to walk without crying."

Katjaa faced him again. "You can't go with me," she said with sorrow.

_I didn't expect that._ Arenar scratched his scraggly beard. "Why not?" She pointed at his bad leg. "Oh, this? Come on, we got over here fine, didn't we? Give me a couple more healing potions, plus my own magic, and leg will be mostly mended in two, three days tops."

"But I need to go _now_ ," Katjaa reminded him.

" _We_ can go now; I just need a crutch or walking stick."

"You'll still be moving too slow."

"All right, well—"

"Plus you'll be wearing armor that Hadvar's uncle gave to us for free. That will just slow you down even more."

"Now wait just—"

"How do you expect to fight on one leg? Hold your sword out and hope your opponent runs onto it?"

_"Fine!"_ Arenar yelled. Katjaa jumped, startled by the sudden outburst. _Calm down, Arenar._ "I'm sorry about that. I got a little carried away there. If you insist, I'll stay here. Whenever I can walk without aid, I will head to Whiterun and join you."

Katjaa moved a little closer, but she didn't return to the bed. "All right. Delphine is allowing you to stay here for free since she requested me to do this, so you don't need to worry about that. Just call out for her if you need anything." Without another word she left the room. A minute later Arenar heard the Breton depart from the inn.

He sighed and lay back down on his bed. So far, Skyrim was the worst country he had ever been in. Even Akavir hadn't started off this bad. Only three days had passed since Arenar entered the frozen north and yet he had died; lost Trueflame and all his other equipment; been seriously burned by a monster from myths and legends; and, to top if off, thrown up everything in his stomach. _If I was more careful none of that would have happened._ Arenar knew this was true. Ever since Lielle's death he had been reckless; never concerned about his safety. After all, what's the worst that could happen to him? Die?

But now Katjaa was in his life. This woman was like Lielle in so many ways it was scary. No logical reason explained the similarities, but he knew this was no coincidence. When it came to him, nothing was a coincidence. And now she was out in the world, traveling alone. She obviously knew how to take care of herself, but that didn't put Arenar at ease. _If I was more careful, she wouldn't be alone._ He resolved to put her safety first from now on, first by making sure he wasn't incapacitated.

Arenar gently placed his hand on his bandages. His hand glowed orange with Restoration magic and he rubbed it along his leg. The spell didn't last long since his magicka pool hadn't completely refilled. He sat back up and tested the leg. It still hurt, but slightly less. "I'm coming, Katjaa."


End file.
